Fair Daze
Karen Jean Matsko Hood
Do you remember that summer we spent at the Fair?
That hot dusty August when fields were browning,
Struggling for moisture under the smothering sod.
Cowboys flirted with cowgirls
Standing at the gate, waiting
For the rodeo to begin.
Bucking broncos and wild mustangs
Accepting their bow-legged mounts
To ride with their mending bones.
The smell of sweat crazed bulls
Pacing next to matted horses from the wild,
Captured from their native range.
We walked by cowhands
Trying to understand the drama,
Waiting for the excitement to begin.
The first metal gate swings open
Covered with peeling paint and
Flaking rust.
Crowd roaring in the stands
Weathered gray benches
Bleaching in the sun.
Cotton candy vendors make the rounds.
Bulls burst forth
While clowns dart
Behind their barrels in skeptical trust.
Rain falls from gray skies
To mesh the dust.
Final gate swings open.
Rodeo crowds cannonade
As we saw only each other
That summer August day.
